


Running From Foxes

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Casual Sex, Derek Has Issues, Fuckbuddies, Good Alpha Derek Hale, M/M, POV Derek Hale, Werefox Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 06:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16034990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Derek and Stiles have a lot of mutually enjoyable casual sex. Only problem is that Derek has issues, and also some feelings, and Stiles really wants to cuddle.





	Running From Foxes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smowkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smowkie/gifts).



> This was originally meant for another prompt, but it went in a completely different direction, so it was scrapped and re-started. But my sweet friend Smowkie is having a birthday today, so I polished it up all shiny, and now it's a birthday present!
> 
> Happy birthday, Smowkie! You are the sweetest and deserve only the best in life. <3 <3

“Running away again, Boss?”

 

Derek grinds his teeth, and hates himself for being so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't even hear Erica's heartbeat in the living room as he came home.

 

“I told you,” he grits out. “Wolves don't run from foxes.” There's no point in trying to hide where he's been. He's _reeking_.

 

Erica snorts from the couch. “Riiiight.”

 

He snarls at her and goes to the kitchen for a drink. And no, he's not hiding from Erica's knowing eyes. Except for how he totally is.

 

“You know,” she drawls, following him into the kitchen, which proves just how futile that attempt was. “Maybe you should try sticking around sometimes.”

 

“No.”

 

“Could be good for you.”

 

“No.”

 

“Good for both of you, really.”

 

Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He's a goddamn werewolf, and he's still getting tension headaches. Just goes to show what a shitstorm his life is. “Look, that's not... what it is.”

 

“All right. Then what is it?” Erica asks, plopping down her elbows on the kitchen counter, as if she's ready to study Derek like a research project. He dives for the fridge and hides behind the door for as long as possible, pretending very hard that he doesn't know exactly what he wanted and where to find it. “Well?” she prompts as soon as he closes the door.

 

“Could we not do this?” he begs, taking his bottle of water with him and goes towards his room, but she just follows him.

 

“We could, I guess, but come on, you know me.”

 

Derek snarls with frustration. “I do, which is why I know you won't follow me in here.” His hand is on the knob, and safety is a mere step away, when she reaches out and takes hold of the door so he can't open it.

 

“Derek.” Her voice is a lot more serious, so he prays for strength and finally faces her.

 

“What.”

 

“I worry about you. I thought when you met Stiles that maybe... maybe it would help.”

 

He's not completely stupid, so he can guess what she's getting at. But at the same time, he's not sure he really follows, because he's... okay. He's doing _fine_. “Help with... what?”

 

“I dunno. Any of it?”

 

Derek snorts. “That's what I pay my therapist for.”

 

“And that's great, but... you do all this stuff for me and Boyd and Isaac, but you don't do stuff just for _you_. You moved us here to New York so we could go to college, got us a house, you look after us, hell, you cook us _dinner_.” Her face is weirdly stern, her usual sharp grin completely gone, and it makes her look... adult somehow. Derek isn't sure he's ready for that. “And you know what, it kinda makes us forget sometimes that you're not actually our dad. You're not even thirty, Derek.”

 

“So?”

 

“So! So, you should be doing stuff! You shouldn't be stuck looking after us!”

 

“It's not a chore, Erica! You're my pack! It's what I do!”

 

“And we appreciate it, but come on. Being an alpha isn't all there is to life.”

 

He pries her hand off the door and steps into his room. “But it's my life to live,” he says, and snaps the door shut in her concerned face.

 

It's not that he doesn't understand her worries. He knows he's got issues, which is a huge part of why this thing with Stiles is gonna stay the way it is.

 

Derek is doing fine on his own.

 

Really.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god,” Stiles wheezes, arm flung over his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath. “Damn, that was good, man.”

 

Derek has to agree. He's pretty sure his brain is leaking out of his ears, and it takes him an awfully long time to remember that he's supposed to be leaving. Stiles doesn't seem to remember either, rolling over once he's finally able to breathe, and grins at Derek, teeth still sharper than human, and eyes still glowing faintly gold, like he can't summon the willpower to actually hold it in.

 

“I mean, _damn_. We're getting really good at this. Sure you don't wanna go for another round?”

 

It's not quite the same as being asked to stay, but it does make Derek pause as he's sitting up, already reaching for his pants. Stiles has never objected to the leaving. It's always seemed like they were on the same page with this, and Derek has never had reason to question it. But after Erica's worries, and the fact that he can't seem to stay away for more than a day or so before falling into Stiles' bed again, he's kinda been thinking about it lately. Staying. Not going home in a cloud of sex odor and climbing into bed alone.

 

Stiles notices his hesitation, and the grin fades. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Derek says shortly, and starts getting dressed. “It's... nothing.”

 

“Obviously not nothing,” Stiles says, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees, wonderfully uncaring of his nudity. “If you don't wanna tell me, that's okay, I respect that. But I'm... you know... here. If you need it.”

 

It's the first time Stiles has seemed anything but completely confident and assured when he's with Derek. Obviously a lot of it is bravado, covering up his insecurities, but Derek does the exact same thing, powering ahead to distract from how fucked up he is, so he understands. But Stiles is... reaching out. There's no doubt about it this time.

 

“It's just...” he fiddles with his shirt and avoids Stiles' eyes. “It's just something Erica said.”

 

Stiles huffs fondly. “She's smart. You should listen to her.”

 

“I did, which is the problem,” Derek mutters, and Stiles laughs softly. It's such a nice sound. Husky and sex-rough, but also just... comfortable. “She... seems to think that we should... that I should...” he shakes his head and gives up on it, pulling the shirt over his head roughly.

 

“Oh, come on, don't leave me hanging, here,” Stiles says, and tilts his head until he can catch Derek's eyes again. “Please?”

 

Derek is utterly helpless against that pleading tone, and he sighs, knowing he's gonna talk now. He can't not. But he _hates_ talking. “She's worried about me,” he says, sitting down cautiously on the end of the bed. “Wants me to... I dunno, _live my life_. And I guess lately she's gotten convinced that that involves you somehow.”

 

“Well, she's got a point. What do you _do_ , exactly? You work out, you clean the house, you go to therapy, and every other night you come here for an hour. That's not a lot of living, Derek,” Stiles says, and Derek turns around to stare at him.

 

“How the hell do you even know that?”

 

Stiles gives him an unimpressed look. “Derek. We've been boning for like three months. I have classes with Erica and Isaac, and even Boyd greets me like a friend these days. And I know we don't do a lot of talking, but... I _know_ you.”

 

For some reason that statement makes Derek feel really uneasy. He'd been so sure that what they had was nothing. Purely physical. Convenient.

 

Sure, he likes Stiles. Trusts him to some extent. They wouldn't be doing this otherwise. But he was not at all prepared for... this.

 

Noticing his discomfort, Stiles sighs, and cards his fingers through his wild hair. “Look... I've been trying my best to give you space. If all you want is casual, then I'm cool with keeping it that way. But I guess I never really gave you any other options either.” He gives Derek a complicated look, and if Derek wasn't such a coward he'd spend some time trying to figure out what it means. But right now he feels more like running away, and Stiles can tell, so he averts his gaze. Giving Derek space.

 

Again.

 

“Right. Okay then. Well, I guess what I'm going for here is... you have options, Derek. I'm... open. To whatever. I like you, okay?” His eyes dart up to meet Derek's, fox gold shimmering behind his irises. “And I know foxes and wolves don't usually mix well, but... I dunno, we seem to work pretty good so far.”

 

If Derek was a less fucked up person, that would be a perfect in. But he's not. He's got a list of issues longer than his arm, so he does what he always does. He runs. He doesn't even care about admitting it anymore. He's running, but not from a fox. Not from Stiles, but from his own goddamn feelings.

 

Maybe he should up the number of hours with his therapist...

 

There's no stopping the thoughts, though, and it eats away at him. Stiles likes him. As a _person_. Derek can't for the life of him figure out why, but there's no accounting for taste. Stiles also doesn't seem to give two shits about the traditional animosity between foxes and wolves, the solitary nature of his kind usually clashing with the fervent pack culture of wolves. It's a silly prejudice, sure, but to not care at all? Derek grew up in a stereotypically traditional wolf pack, and he's having a hard time wrapping his brain around it. But, then again, he lost his family so early there's no doubt a lot of things they never got to teach him.

 

So all he can do is look at it logically. Stiles likes Derek. The pack likes Stiles, and he seems to like them back. Derek... really loves getting laid several times a week.

 

But, as he thinks it over, he has to admit it's more than that. Just catching Stiles' scent releases some of the tension in his shoulders, and while their relationship is almost exclusively sex, there have been times they've met for coffee beforehand, or shared a meal when it was convenient. And Stiles might know Derek, but Derek realizes with some measure of shock that he knows Stiles too. Knows his major, his hobbies, knows about his remaining family, his friends back home and his thoughts on a multitude of topics, rambled at Derek at random times. Sometimes in the middle of sex, because Stiles never shuts up.

 

Derek realizes as he thinking about it that he's _smiling_ , and it's such a foreign thing on his face that he spends quite some time silently freaking out about it.

 

But never let it be said that Derek Hale is a coward.

 

… much.

 

In any case, he admits to himself finally, after a few weeks of on and off soul searching that Erica has a point. He's never _ever_ telling her that, but he admits it silently to himself, and the next logical step is to do something about it.

 

“Would it-” he starts hesitantly next time he's lying next to the fucked-out puddle that used to be Stiles. “Would it be okay if... I stayed? For a while?”

 

He's not pushing his luck. It's not gonna be spending the night, not yet at least. Baby steps. But he's gotta start somewhere.

 

Stiles blinks his eyes hard until he can focus properly, and gives Derek a soft look. “Of course. Would, uh... would some post-coital snuggling be too much for you?” He sounds so strange, cautious and small, so unlike the brash confidence he usually projects, and it takes Derek way too long to realize that this is Stiles putting himself out there, asking for what he wants, and not just going along with whatever _Derek_ wants.

 

“That'd be nice,” he says, and it's almost obscene how Stiles sounds as he burrows into Derek's side, all contented whimpers and satisfied moans. It makes Derek feel selfish for not having realized how much Stiles had been holding himself back for Derek's sake.

 

“Why are you being so... careful? With me, I mean,” Derek asks after a long, comfortable quiet, because it's really bugging him now.

 

Stiles doesn't seem put off by the question, just nuzzles his nose against Derek's chest hair. “Mmm, well. That was Erica, back when it was just unresolved tension between us. She basically threatened to eat my balls for breakfast if I didn't put on the kid gloves. And...” he trails off, scent going a little bitter with worry, and Derek wonders exactly how graphic Erica was in her threats. “Look, I don't know everything you've been through, but... I can guess sometimes. And the last thing I want is to make that worse for you.”

 

There's a vague sick feeling in Derek's gut, like there always is when he thinks about... _her_ and all the shitty consequences of her actions. But Stiles just worms himself in even closer, throwing a leg over Derek's and stroking his chest and stomach soothingly, obviously smelling his distress. “See, this is... I was trying not to do _this_.”

 

The sick feeling fades, making way for warmth instead, and Derek lets his arm tighten around Stiles' shoulders. “You don't. It's just... me. And you don't have to be _that_ careful. You can... you know... ask for things,” he murmurs, sincere but almost afraid of saying it too loudly, like it'll somehow make Stiles pull away.

 

Yeah, Derek never said his issues made _sense_.

 

“Well...” Stiles says, following it up with a small sigh. “I'd kinda like to add this to our routine. Can we do that?”

 

“Post-sex cuddling?”

  
“Yeah.”

 

“Sure,” Derek says, feeling weird about it for a second before it occurs to him why. “Wait, hang on... you were hesitant asking a _werewolf_ for cuddles. Seriously? We're probably the most tactile shifters out there.”

 

Stiles glares up at him, and Derek can't help but find it adorable. “First of all, that's a stereotype, and we're already breaking one by doing whatever it is we're doing.”

 

“We're having sex, Stiles. If you can't talk about it you shouldn't be having it,” Derek jokes, and snorts out a laugh when Stiles pokes him.

 

“Shut up, asshole, you know that's not what I meant. And if you wanna talk about breaking the stereotypes, why aren't you telling me to go fuck myself right now?”

 

“Because _I'd_ rather be doing it for you.”

 

“See?” Stiles says smugly. “You went and made my point for me!”

 

Derek decides not to dignify that with an answer.

 

* * *

 

It becomes a new part of their routine.

 

First the sweaty, intense sex, followed by an hour or so of sated snuggling before Derek drags himself out of Stiles' bed and heads home. For a fox, Stiles is ridiculously touchy, and makes _no_ secret of how much he loves it, and while Derek isn't good at asking for what he needs, he's happy enough to admit that he loves it too. Loves it a little too much, probably, because as the weeks go by it gets increasingly more difficult to pry himself out of Stiles' sleepy arms, get dressed and drive home to his own, cold bed.

 

But the implications of that are scary, so he ignores it as hard as he can, and milks it for all it's worth while the going is good. Because it's bound to go sour at some point. Things always do for Derek, and he's aware that it’s coloring his outlook on life a lot.

 

Hence, the therapy.

 

So it's gonna stay like it is, because staying the night would be a slippery slope into something Derek just isn't ready to face.

 

Only problem is that life doesn't like fitting around Derek's nice plans.

 

He's busy kissing a path down Stiles' throat, which usually gets him a lot of wriggling and enthusiastic pawing to get them both naked, when he realizes the response is lukewarm at best. He pulls away to give Stiles a questioning look, but Stiles shakes his head and pulls Derek back in for a slightly more sincere kiss.

 

“No, no, don't go away, don't... don't mind me, keep going.”

 

Derek pushes him back gently and frowns. “Don't _mind_ you? I'm not gonna do this if you're not up to it.” He's aware he sounds angry, but if nothing else his past experiences have made him hyper aware of full and enthusiastic consent.

 

Stiles heaves a sigh and turns away with slumped shoulders. “It's fine, you can go. Guess I'm not in the mood tonight.”

 

“Not in the- then why did _you_ text _me_ to come over?”

 

“Don't worry about it,” Stiles murmurs, and yanks his shirt and pants off to change into his nightclothes. “I changed my mind, it happens.”

 

Derek knows something is up, though he has no idea what, but he knows he doesn't want to leave Stiles unhappy. Casual sex or not, Derek isn't the kind of ass who just walks away from someone who feels like shit. He puts a hand on Stiles' elbow, coaxing him to turn back around. “Stiles... what's going on?”

 

Slumping down to sit on the bed in only his sleep pants, Stiles fiddles with the t-shirt still in his lap, and avoids Derek's eyes. “I just... didn't wanna be alone.”

 

“And you called _me_? Why not... oh, I dunno. Literally anyone else?”

 

His snappish tone makes Stiles glare at him. “Because I wanted to fucking cuddle, and the friends I have around here are not exactly at the platonic cuddle stage with me yet, so I figured some sex was a small price to pay for it.”

 

It makes Derek feel a little conflicted, because on the one hand he wonders if he should feel used about this, but on the other he's weirdly upset that Stiles didn't just ask for cuddles in the first place. He _shouldn't_ be upset about that, since that's not the kind of relationship they have, but fact of the matter is that he _is_ upset, and, fuck everything, that defeated look on Stiles' face just _hurts_ to look at.

 

“We could... do that,” he says, carefully, sitting down on the bed next to Stiles. “I mean... you can... call for just that. If you want.”

 

Stiles' glare dies so fast it's like it was never there, replaced by slack-jawed surprise. “What, really?”

 

“Yeah. Sure.”

 

His answer must be too short, because Stiles narrows his eyes at him. “Don't just do it for my sake. I don't want that.”

 

“I'm not. I... like it too, I guess.”

 

“You _guess_?”

 

Derek throws up his hands. “I've been having a really hard time leaving lately, okay?”

 

Thankfully, Stiles doesn't press. He just stares for a while longer, and then pulls his shirt on. “Okay. Then take off your boots and get in bed.”

 

Doing what he's told seems the easier path, so Derek follows orders and as soon as he's stretched out on the mattress, Stiles is there, plastering himself against Derek's side with a bone-deep sigh.

 

“Bad day?” Derek asks cautiously after several minutes of uncharacteristic silence from Stiles.

 

“Yeah. The shittiest.”

 

“… wanna talk about it?”

 

Stiles lifts his head to stare again, and Derek raises his eyebrows in the response.

 

“Yeah. Okay, yeah,” Stiles says, and lays back down to ramble through a lengthy tale of all the ways his day was awful.

 

* * *

 

Derek should have known better than thinking Stiles wouldn't take every word he's ever uttered to heart, because if he'd thought leaving after the sex was hard before, it's damn near impossible with Stiles holding his own words against him.

 

“Don't go yet,” Stiles grumbles, as Derek tries to extricate himself from the octopus grip after their latest round of sex.

 

“Stiles, come on, I have to-”

 

“Have to what? You and I both know you're just going home to shower and sleep. There's literally nothing pressing in your life, and I dunno about you, but my cuddle-meter is low, and the jizz isn't even dry yet.”

 

Derek sighs, wondering why in the world he likes Stiles so much. “Fine. Ten more minutes.”

 

“Twenty.”

 

“Fifteen.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Half an hour later Derek is actually getting cranky. “Stiles, you need to let me leave now.”

 

“Nuh uh.”

 

“Come on-”

 

“Nope! We've both been so damn busy lately, and you said I could ask you for cuddles, so I am. This is me asking for more cuddles.”

 

“And this is me, asking to leave now,” Derek snarls, and his scent must be getting sharp, because Stiles finally does let him go, face twisted in contrition.

 

“Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to.. sorry,” he says in a small voice, and Derek immediately regrets being snappish. He sits back down on the bed with a sigh, and rubs a hand over his hair.

 

“I'm sorry too. Didn't mean to get pissy.”

 

Stiles gives him a vaguely wounded look from where he's still lying, arms now wrapped around himself instead of Derek. “Then why did you?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Why _did_ you get angry if you didn't mean to?”

 

Derek therapist has actually asked him questions like that before, and while he usual instinct is to snap again, he figures that Stiles has earned an honest answer.

 

“I... got scared, I guess. I get angry when I'm scared. I'm working on it in therapy.”

 

“That's great, Derek,” Stiles says softly. “But what are you scared of?”

 

Derek had really hoped Stiles wouldn't ask, but they're here now, and his therapist did suggest that maybe he should try and face some of the conflicts that usually makes him run away. She seems to think that it won't always turn out bad, and while Derek doesn't have a lot of experience to back up that claim, he can't help but... hope.

 

“You. This. What might happen if I stay.”

 

“What do you think is gonna happen?”

 

He's not sure how to word it, but Stiles seems content to wait while he mulls it over. “I guess... I worry that I won't be able to leave. That I won't want to. That I'll... hurt you.”

 

“Why would you staying the night hurt me?”

 

“Not just the night,” Derek clarifies. “Staying... _with_ you.”

 

Stiles' eyes widen slightly. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah. And I... I'm not good for people. I get people hurt.” He huffs bitterly. “Like you just saw I still have some... issues.”

 

“Dude, we've all got issues,” Stiles snorts, and sits up slowly. “But, like... if we let them get in the way of what we want, how are we gonna get anywhere, ever?” He gives Derek a searching look. “Do you _wanna_ stay?”

 

Derek feels like squirming at the direct question, but he can't figure out a way to avoid it. So he might as well face it head on, no matter how much his stomach twists with fear. “Yeah. If you want me to.”

 

“No, dude, not if _I_ want. Though, I do, I really do, I'm kinda stupid about you, in case you haven't noticed,” Stiles says, a very lovely blush spreading across his neck and up towards his ears. “So, like... if you're worried I won't reciprocate or something, then I can kill that worry right now.”

 

“But I'll hurt you. Even if I stay... I still have anger issues.”

 

“But you're working on them, and that's good enough for me. Challenge accepted, wolf-man,” Stiles says with a grin, but Derek's stomach is still churning.

 

“What if I _do_ hurt you?”

  
Stiles shrugs, though he does look more serious. “Then you apologize, learn from it, and move on. It's what everyone does, Derek.”

 

Derek isn't quite sure that's true, but Stiles' eyes are glowing, not with his fox gold, but with sheer, blatant hope, and Derek just isn't strong enough anymore. “Okay.”

 

“Okay... what?”

 

“I'll stay,” he whispers, and Stiles kisses him so softly he barely feels it before pulling him back down to the mattress, and wraps his arms tightly around him.

 

“Who says wolves and foxes don't get along, I'll kick their asses,” Stiles murmurs sleepily, much later, and Derek smiles in the dark. He's still scared. But with Stiles in his arms, somehow it feels like it's bearable. Like it might _not_ all turn to shit.

 

His therapist – not to mention Erica – is gonna be so proud of him.

 

End.

 

 


End file.
